


Let Nothing You Dismay

by CousinCecily



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Bad Cooking, Christmas Fluff, Family Issues, First Meetings, Fluff and Humor, Geralt and Jaskier are dorks and I love them, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia is a Sweetheart, Holidays, Home for Christmas, Jaskier | Dandelion is a Mess, Jaskier | Dandelion's Parents Being Assholes, M/M, Meet-Cute, Mentioned Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon, Who let Jaskier in the kitchen?, Yule
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-12 16:48:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29138793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CousinCecily/pseuds/CousinCecily
Summary: “Kaer Morhen Wildlife Removal, Vesemir speaking.”“Ah, hello.” Jaskier laughs nervously before forcing cheer into his voice. “Happy Yule! Are you who I ought to call about a bear?”There’s a brief pause on the line. “You’ve seen a bear?”***Visiting his family for Yule, Jaskier is in the kitchen and in over his head. Calling wildlife removal on a holiday is thelastthing he wants to be doing… until a handsome white-haired stranger turns up at his door.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 58
Kudos: 623





	Let Nothing You Dismay

**Author's Note:**

> Here's my submission for the Geraskier Midwinter Reverse Mini Bang! I paired with the amazing MaxImproving ([Twitter](https://twitter.com/maximproving) & [Tumblr](https://maximproving.tumblr.com/)), who was an absolute _dream_ to collaborate with. You can find their art (which inspired this story) embedded within the fic. We're beyond excited to finally share our work with you all! ❤️
> 
> As always, a huge thanks to my beta [DrowningByDegrees](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DrowningByDegrees/pseuds/DrowningByDegrees).

Jaskier’s footsteps echo down the hall as he paces, thumb hovering over the green call button on his phone. With a softly murmured, “Fuck it,” he taps the button and places the phone to his ear.

Tilting his head, he glances nervously into the kitchen. The goose slowly roasts in the oven… tormenting him. Surely it should be golden brown by now, right? It’s been in there for _hours_. Maybe he should turn the heat up?

The line clicks open and Jaskier jumps. 

“Kaer Morhen Wildlife Removal, Vesemir speaking.” 

The voice coming through his speakers is gruff and—somehow—already unimpressed. Perhaps Jaskier should’ve done more research beyond a quick search on his phone, choosing a company based on their dope wolf logo rather than— well, anything else, really.

“Ah, hello.” Jaskier laughs nervously before forcing cheer into his voice. He’s interrupting the man’s holiday, the least he can do is be pleasant. “Happy Yule! Are you who I ought to call about a bear?” 

There’s a brief pause on the line. “You’ve seen a bear?” 

“Not _seen_ so much as… Well, I’m certain it’s a bear,” he finishes with confidence. “There was a dark shape moving in the yard last night, and just now I heard some very… Some very bear-like grunting.”

“Grunting.” 

“Yes, bear-like, as I said.” Out of the corner of his eye, he sees a pot about to boil over. Bollocks. “Look, it was loud, it was nearby, and I _really_ don’t want to go out there to check because my family’s manor is in the middle of the blasted woods and I don’t feel like dying tonight.” He turns to the window and mutters, half to himself, “They’d never let me live it down.” 

The snow-dusted lawn glints in the late afternoon sun and Jaskier sighs. “Please,” he amends.

Vesemir hums low, then says, “Bears should be hibernating by now, but it’s possible one was disturbed by something. Where are you located?”

Jaskier bites his lip. “Lettenhove.” He relays the exact address. 

There’s some muffled typing on the other line before, “I’ve got someone close by, I’ll send them over to check it out. Should be there in under an hour." 

Jaskier breathes a sigh of relief, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. “Thank you.”

They end the call and Jaskier rests his forehead on the cool glass. One thing at a time. He takes another deep breath and—oh fuck something’s burning.

Cursing, he rushes into the kitchen.

***

Cooking the entire holiday feast by himself was not exactly Jaskier’s _first_ idea for impressing his parents. Nor was it the fifth, or even the twenty-fifth. In truth, it wasn’t on the list at all.

His music career was apparently not going to do it. No matter that he had graduated from Oxenfurt’s music program at the top of his class, or that the bar across from his flat asked him to perform as part of their permanent Friday night music rotation, or how many times he told them about a new song going viral on TikTok, it was never any different. They would continue to fawn over his sisters and cousins and their prestigious, more _traditional_ achievements.

So three nights ago, when he was subject yet again to the parade of great things everyone else had done, and everything he said was met with a “That’s nice, Julian,” something within him snapped. As the conversation turned to Yule dinner, Jaskier boldly declared that he would take care of it, cooking the entire meal from scratch. Who cares if he didn’t know how to cook? Families all across the continent cooked a traditional Yule goose, how hard could it be!

It turns out: in the kitchen, unbridled optimism and YouTube tutorials can only take you so far. Now, alone in his parents’ house and surrounded by simmering pots and pans and all manner of kitchen detritus, Jaskier wipes his brow with a hand that he belatedly realizes is covered in flour. He’s beginning to reconsider his earlier estimation. In all fairness, it seemed like a good idea at the time.

Perhaps he can still salvage this. At minimum, he needs the goose and a handful of side dishes to survive the cooking process. There’s still a couple of hours before the family gets home and—

The doorbell rings. Fuck, has it already been an hour? Wiping his hands as best he can, he heads to the front door. 

Mind half on the disaster that is the carrot soufflé, he opens the front door, only to be met by the most gorgeous man he has ever seen. He stops short. “Oh.” 

The first thing Jaskier notices are his eyes. They’re sharp, and focused, and so amber they’re almost gold in the glowing light of the front entry. By the time Jaskier is able to perceive the rest of his body, he sees nothing less than six feet of rock solid beefcake poured into a black and gray uniform, wolf logo shining over his left breast. Long silver hair is half pulled back from a face could’ve been chiseled from marble, stern lines etched into his face. And in spite of his… his everything, there is something almost soft about the man, some kind of indefinable gentling around the edges.

After a moment that has surely gone on too long, the newest love of Jaskier’s life grumbles, “You called for wildlife removal?”

Oh gods his voice is deep. Oh gods Jaskier needs to pick his jaw up off the floor and pull himself together. He is suddenly acutely aware of his current appearance. The upside: He’s already dressed for dinner, sleeves rolled up on a deep red velvet button-down, which hugs his chest as it’s unbuttoned _very_ low. The downside: He’s paired it with the most delightfully horrendous holiday apron he could find. It’s covered in Yule trees and snowmen, in addition to half the contents of today’s culinary exploits. He’s pretty certain there’s flour in his hair. This is fine, he can work with this. He’s sure he just looks… charmingly disheveled.

Jaskier clears his throat and hears himself say, “If you’re my Yule present, I must’ve been _very_ good this year.” Well. That was… that’ll have to do. “I’m Jaskier,” he tries, holding out a hand to shake. Belatedly he realizes it’s still covered in flour. He pulls it back. 

The man’s eyebrows raise, but a faint crinkle appears at the corners of his eyes. “Geralt.”

While Jaskier stares at him, trying to find any shred of a thought, the god of sex—Geralt—asks, “Can I come in?”

“Oh! Oh right yes of course, please.” Jaskier holds open the door and gestures inside. As Geralt enters, Jaskier winces a bit at the opulence of his parents’ manor, both the extravagant decor and the truly excessive number of Yule trees. It’s beautiful, certainly, but none of it represents _him_. He opens his mouth to speak, but a harsh series of beeps from the kitchen interrupts him.

“Ah, fuck, that’ll be the potatoes.” He closes the front door and starts toward the kitchen. “Come on through, I need to make sure the kitchen’s not caught fire.”

He doesn’t look back to see if Geralt follows, but he hears a low “Hm” behind him that sounds suspiciously amused.

Looking at the kitchen with fresh eyes, it’s even more of a disaster than he realized. There’s four pans going on the stovetop, one of which is boiling over dramatically, and an array of food and dirty dishes are haphazardly flung across every available surface. The only thing in any semblance of order is the goose still cooking away in the oven.

Quietly chanting “This is fine, this is fine, this is fine, this is fine,” he scurries over to the stovetop, picks up the boiling-over saucepot and looks around slightly frantically for a clear space to put it. He grabs a tea towel, shoves a few things closer together on the counter, and places the pan on top. With a dramatic flourish, he spins in a circle to locate the source of the beeping and, at last, quiets the timer. 

“Well! That’s probably… done.” He turns back around to look at Geralt, who has joined him in the kitchen and is wearing _the_ most bland and unassuming expression on his face, which… _honestly_. 

“Oh, don’t look at me like that,” Jaskier starts, and Geralt’s eyes flash. “I’m doing marvelously for my first time cooking… well, any of this.”

Something in Geralt’s posture loosens. He shifts his weight and raises an eyebrow. “You’re cooking all of this for the first time. On your own?”

Jaskier scrubs a hand over the back of his neck. “Ah, yeah. You know.” He shrugs. “Wanted to impress the family, so I promised to cook the entire Yule dinner.” He smiles, rueful. “Ridiculous, I know, but I _did_ promise.”

“Hm.” The expression on Geralt’s face is hard to place, but it’s not belittling. Far from it. 

A beat passes, and when nothing else in the kitchen threatens to explode, Geralt tilts his head. “You said you saw a bear?”

“Oh, right!” Jaskier wipes his hands on his apron and gestures grandly. “Well I didn’t see it, per se, but it was _definitely_ there.” 

***

“Essi, they sent me a bear to see about my bear.” Jaskier says, dangerously close to a whine. He’s in the kitchen whisking his second batch of chocolate mousse, phone pressed to his ear.

Essi’s familiar voice crackles through the line. “Jaskier. Darling. Bestest of friends. They who what now? I thought you were still on your misguided attempt at making your family dinner?”

“It’s not _misguided_ , it’s— it’s fashionably lost,” Jaskier declares. “Back to the point, you remember last night when I texted you about the creepy shape I saw outside and said it was a bear? Earlier when I was wrestling the goose into the oven, I heard grunting, and scraping, and all _kinds_ of alarming noises coming from the back lawn, so I called wildlife removal. And Essi. Essi they sent me the most gorgeous, burliest, grumpiest hunk of a man to ever grace the continent. I am at severe risk of falling in love. In fact, I might have already.”

Essi laughs, familiar and comforting. “Well, did you get his number yet?”

“ _No_ , we’ve hardly spoken,” he moans. “I said the most embarrassing pickup line when he got here and then I brought him to the back terrace so he could take a look around—” Jaskier gasps, sending a large splash of chocolate over the rim of the bowl “—Essi what if he gets mauled by the bear? What if he _dies_?”

Essi, ever practical and obviously smiling, says, “He’s not going to die love, he’s a professional.”

Half-heartedly wiping up the mess, Jaskier grouses, “He better not die, we haven’t even gone on a date yet.”

Essi laughs. “Well before he sweeps you off your feet, make sure you take care of that goose first. And sneak a photo of him, he sounds cute!”

Jaskier groans. “I’ll do my best but no promises.”

They exchange holiday wishes and Jaskier hangs up, looking around the kitchen. As he turns, his gaze falls on the goose in the oven, and the thin wisp of smoke curling toward the ceiling.

Fucking _cock_. 

He rushes over to the oven, yanking open the door and spilling smoke into the kitchen. “Shit cock balls fucking _fuck_.” In vain, he attempts to fan it away with a pair of oven mitts, but the bird is smoking too profusely for it to have any real effect. Aggrieved, he races away to open the kitchen windows, but double-takes at the French doors leading onto the back terrace. Not wasting any time, he throws them wide, carrying the entire goose, roasting pan and all, outside. 

The cold winter air hits him as he looks around, eyes catching on a series of crates, probably left over from the new wine shipment his mother was bragging about this morning. Thanking all the gods, he sets the pan down on the one closest to the door.

For a few minutes, he just stands outside and breathes, trying to lower his heart rate. The goose seems to be saved, and in all honesty it doesn’t even look burnt. It’s the fat drippings at the bottom of the roasting pan that have turned into a blackened char. Probably he ought to leave it out here, at least until it stops smoking. 

He takes a deep breath and checks his phone. There’s a slew of Yuletide texts from friends, as well as one snide text from his cousin Valdo, saying the family will be home at around five, and has he burnt down the kitchen yet? Ugh. Jaskier rolls his eyes and pockets his phone without replying to anyone.

A throat clears behind him. Jaskier jumps and turns to see Geralt, arms crossed. Unfairly, time in the snow has somehow made him even _more_ gorgeous while Jaskier only feels more haggard.

“Uh, any luck?” Jaskier asks. Blissfully, Geralt appears to be ignoring the gently smoking goose.

“It’s not a bear,” Geralt says. “It’s rats.”

Incredulous, Jaskier says, “What? No, it can’t be rats. Mother hates rats. I _know_ she’s completely rat-proofed this place.”

“Well, she didn’t do a very good job,” Geralt counters. “Because it’s rats.”

Jaskier shakes his head, vehement. “ _No_ , I know what I heard. Rats do not make noises like that.”

Irritation blooms across Geralt’s face. To top it off, he turns around and starts to _walk away_. 

_Oh_ , but Jaskier is just getting started.

“And let’s not forget the hulking shape I saw last night,” he continues at a louder volume, pointing wildly as he follows Geralt. “What, was that a hundred rats in a trench coat? Did they assemble into some kind of rat Voltron? Tell me, Geralt, should we be fearing our new rat overlords? _Or_ ,” he emphasizes, hands falling to his hips. “Is it the far more _likely_ alternative that it was a bear?”

Before Jaskier can react to the eye roll Geralt completely fails to hide, Geralt drops to his knees by a grate fastened to the side of the house. Without saying a word, he pops open the grate, shoves his arm inside, has some kind of minor struggle, grunts, tugs his arm back out and stands in one fluid motion. Looking altogether smug about it, he holds out his arm and presents Jaskier with nothing other than a rat, dangling by its tail. Geralt looks at Jaskier. Jaskier looks at the rat. The rat looks like it’s had better days.

“Wha— You— How—?” Jaskier sputters at the rat, and at Geralt, and at this whole _mess_ of a day, and without warning he’s doubled over laughing.

His outburst seems to catch Geralt off guard, but soon his expression softens into an amused sort of ‘I told you so.’ Moving carefully, Geralt repositions the rat, cradling it in his gloved hands.

“Well,” Jaskier giggles, wiping tears out of his eyes, “I’m willing to concede that there are rats.”

Geralt snorts and rolls his eyes. He sets the rat back down by its nest and it races back in. 

“Wait, you’re not going to— You’re just going to let him go?”

Geralt grits his teeth. “Not an exterminator.” His movements are a little forced as wiggles the grate into place. “I don’t kill anything if I can help it.”

“But it’s just a _rat_.”

The grate falls into place with a clang. “I don’t _care_.” He stands and whirls to face Jaskier. “They’re not _just rats_. Rats are intelligent, creative, and immensely social creatures. I won’t kill something that’s just trying to get by.” 

Jaskier’s mouth falls open and his heart skips a beat. Oh. Oh no. What kind of big softie like this goes into pest control? Jaskier’s chest feels tight. 

As though sensing Jaskier can see past his defenses, Geralt quickly shores them back up, returning to his initial grim and serious state. 

Above all else, Jaskier _cannot_ scare him off. Voice softer, he asks, “So, what do we do?”

Geralt crosses his arms, expressionless. “You call regular pest control after the holiday.”

Jaskier licks his lips. “But… won’t they just kill them?”

Geralt sighs and takes a moment to consider Jaskier. “Most pest control companies don’t kill if they don’t have to. They’ll install repellants and seal up any entrances.” He pauses again, and almost looks sheepish. “I was going to refer you to a company. One I trust.” 

Their eyes meet, and Jaskier’s breath catches.

Geralt quickly looks away. “I’ll go get their card.” 

Jaskier swallows and watches Geralt as he heads around the house, boots crunching in the snow. Jaskier’s heart simply cannot handle this softhearted beefcake of a man. He _needs_ his number. So, he follows Geralt to his van, parked around the side of the house.

As Jaskier puzzles out the technique least likely to be shot down, Geralt’s phone rings. 

The sound makes Geralt scowl, but the amazing thing is, as soon as Geralt pulls out his phone it’s like his whole demeanor changes, and an actual _smile_ flashes across his face.

Geralt looks up at Jaskier, seemingly not surprised that he’s followed him all this way, and asks for a moment. Jaskier nods and as Geralt turns Jaskier catches a glimpse of a young blonde girl on the phone screen.

Geralt removes his work gloves and walks a few paces away to take the call. Jaskier stands around casually but eavesdrops, obviously.

“Hey sweetheart… I’m on one last job… Yes, I’ll be home in time for Yule dinner… ”

As valiantly as Jaskier is pretending not to listen, the warmth in Geralt’s voice as he talks to his—daughter?— melts his heart.

“…And you made sure Uncle Eskel did a good job taking care of the horses? …Well, Uncle Lambert knows better than to mess with Roach.” Geralt laughs, trying for sternness and clearly failing. “That’s because you bribe her with sugar cubes.”

All too soon, Geralt is saying, “Alright, I’ve got to go. I’ll see you later tonight… Love you too, Jitterbug.”

Jaskier has to bite the inside of his cheek to contain himself as Geralt walks back to the van. Very casually, he says, “So, you have a horse.”

Geralt squints at Jaskier suspiciously. “Yes.”

Jaskier nods, inspecting his nails. “A horse named _Roach_.”

With glee, Jaskier watches Geralt’s eyes close as he appears to look within for strength. 

“You _do_! You have a horse named Roach!”

Geralt glares at Jaskier, but something in his face cracks and a smile peeks through. “She’s named after the fish, not the insect.”

“The— the fish? That’s even _weirder_!” Jaskier is breathless, and his face hurts from smiling, and he can’t— “Go on a date with me,” he blurts. 

Time stretches, and Jaskier swallows. Geralt’s face seems to have frozen in place.

The longer the moment lasts, the more Jaskier’s heart seizes. Quickly, he starts, “That is, if you’re even interested. And single. I mean, you’re clearly a dad and you’re probably married so I shouldn’t get my hopes up, right? But just in case you’re not… we could… date?”

Wincing and more than a little desperate, Jaskier studies Geralt’s face. His expression looks almost puzzled, like he can’t figure out what to do with this.

Jaskier opens his mouth to speak when he hears a loud scraping sound from the direction of the house. They both pause, exchange a confused glance, and simultaneously turn to look.

Next to the goose that Jaskier _definitely_ forgot about is a giant brown bear. 

Beside him, Jaskier hears a soft and fervent, “Fuck.”

The bear has its paws against the crate, and the weight slides it along the stone terrace, the sound ringing across the snow.

“I was right,” Jaskier breathes, excitement bubbling under his whisper. “I was _right_. I knew there was a bear!”

A beat passes. 

“Geralt. Geralt, what do we do, there’s a bear.”

Geralt’s voice is gruff. “I noticed.”

Looking around, Jaskier assesses their situation. They’re standing at the rear of Geralt’s van, about 30 feet away from the house and the bear. A few pieces of shrubbery have partially obscured them from view, but Jaskier has no idea how long that will last. Doesn’t wind direction have something to do with it? 

While he gets no clarity on that front, he does notice that though he thought Geralt had an intense stare before, it’s nothing compared to his alert look now. It’s like his whole body has tensed, like some kind of coiled spring.

“Jaskier,” Geralt grunts under his breath. “Get in the van.” Hand moving to a pouch on his tool belt, Geralt takes a step in the direction of the bear.

“Excuse me, are you walking _toward_ the big scary bear?”

Geralt’s jaw tightens, but he doesn’t shift his gaze. “I have to get her away from _your_ cursed dinner.”

Jaskier waves his hands, “Look, _fuck_ the goose, she can have it.”

“ _No_ ,” Geralt growls. “We can’t let her associate food with this house, it’s too dangerous. Bears who are unafraid of civilization are as good as dead.”

Jaskier’s eyes dart between the bear, who is now snuffling the goose, and Geralt, who is now holding some kind of spray can. “And you’re going to do that with… is that WD-40?”

Geralt pulls his eyes from the bear long enough to shoot Jaskier a pointed glare. “Bear spray.”

Jaskier mouths ‘bear spray’ but doesn’t comment. Geralt rolls his eyes. “It’s like mace. Get in the van.” 

“Uh, Geralt, I’m sure you’ve noticed but your van is pointed in the _other direction_ , and because it’s your work van, there’s no windows out the back. I won’t be able to see, and there’s no way I’m missing this. Besides, what if something happens? What if you get hurt?”

“I’ll be fine.” Geralt looks ready to dismiss the issue but he pauses and gives Jaskier an assessing look. His eyes narrow. “You’re going to stay out here anyway, aren’t you?”

“Yup.” Jaskier says, popping the ‘p.’ Self preservation never was one of his strong suits.

Geralt curses. Shaking his head, he reaches into his belt pouch and pulls out another can of bear spray. He hands it to Jaskier, and as Jaskier makes to take it, Geralt pulls it back and locks eyes with him. Whatever he sees in Jaskier’s face must be enough, because he hands it over. 

Holding up his own, Geralt points out its features. “Safety lock. Push and hold here.” He holds it out, as if to spray. “Aim just below the face. If she charges you, start spraying at 15 feet and don’t stop spraying.” He looks over Jaskier once more. “And don’t run.”

Jaskier nods, enthusiastic. “Aim low. Fifteen feet. Don’t run. Got it.” He’s _definitely_ in over his head, but he feels safe next to Geralt in a way he doesn’t examine. 

The bear starts snuffling at the roasted goose, and with one last look at Jaskier, Geralt steps between them. Without warning, he holds up his arms and shouts from deep in his chest, “Hey! Get away from there!” 

Jaskier watches, mouth open, as the bear looks up from the roast and in their direction, and Geralt continues to almost puff himself up, waving his arms and shouting at the bear to get out of here. The bear lifts her head, snorts, and then to Jaskier’s absolute astonishment, she turns and runs out the yard, climbing the fence and loping into the forest. 

“Wha—” Jaskier starts, but Geralt holds up a hand to silence him. He remains tense for a few moments, listening and watching. When all remains quiet, he relaxes and lowers his hand. 

Free to speak, his words burst forth. “Was that _it_?” Geralt calmly takes the bear mace from Jaskier’s hands and slips it back into his tool belt along with his own. “You just had to… what? Get really cross at her? Shout in her general direction? That’s awfully anticlimactic.” 

Geralt rolls his eyes and does not try to hide the fact. Voice dry, he says, “Next time I’ll make sure the bear charges you, how’s that?”

Pushing past the way his heart flutters at ‘next time,’ Jaskier nods sagely. “Then you could dramatically rescue me. Would make for a much better story.” 

Geralt snorts but then pauses, realization dawning. “That’s what you’re going to tell people happened, isn’t it?”

Jaskier’s grin is wide. “It’s like you already know me.”

Geralt groans and Jaskier’s laugh echoes across the snowy yard. “You _did_ save me, though! Imagine if I hadn’t called you, and I’d gone outside with the goose and there was a bear staring back at me? I would have died Geralt! Died! On Yule no less, my poor family would come home and find me and immediately go into mourning—well, everyone except my cousin Valdo, he’d probably throw a party— Hey Geralt, any chance we could lure the bear back here and have her conveniently maul one of my cousins? Asking for a friend. A friend who is me.”

“You want to murder your cousin, you’ll have to find another accomplice.” Jaskier catches a hint of a smile before Geralt turns to head for the house. 

Jaskier follows along behind and chirps, “Is it really murder, though? Or simply a tragic accident? Who can say!” 

Geralt glances back, eyebrows raised. “Sounds like a terrible first date.”

Jaskier stumbles, heart skipping a beat. Hope flares in his chest as he says, “I can come up with better.”

“Hm. We’ll see.” Geralt smirks.

Jaskier can’t help it, he _beams_. “Perhaps instead I’ll compose a song about the handsome stranger who saved me from a bear, and serenade you with it. Oh!—” he gasps, “—You could be my _muse_.” 

Geralt looks alarmed. “You’re a musician?” He looks Jaskier up and down before making an ‘I should’ve known’ expression, which Jaskier graciously ignores. “Any good?”

Jaskier puffs up, “I’ll have you know I am very _nearly_ famous.” 

“Hm.”

Jaskier shoves playfully at Geralt, carefully not thinking about how warm and solid he feels. “It’s true!” He glances, lighting-quick, at the house, and ignores the tension in his spine in favor of focusing on Geralt and his warm gaze.

They’ve made it back to the French doors and the goose which has thankfully stopped smoking. Jaskier moves closer to inspect it, which is why he’s unprepared when Geralt asks, “Is that why you’re doing this? The dinner?”

Startled, Jaskier turns to stare at Geralt. “What?”

A faint blush forms on Geralt’s cheeks, but Jaskier can’t tell if it’s from the wind or something else. “Earlier… You said you were trying to impress your family.” Geralt’s expression is pinched, like he regrets starting this line of talk but it’s too late to turn back. “Do they not… approve?”

Was it that obvious? Jaskier’s stomach sinks.

Geralt looks pained. “I’m sorry—” he starts. “I’m not. Not good at this.”

In spite of the tension riding in his shoulders, Jaskier softens. For all that’s happened this afternoon, meeting Geralt has truly been the best part of his day. “You don’t have to apologize,” Jaskier says, sincere. “You’re right, they don’t approve.” A sigh slips out his lips and he looks past Geralt, into the house. “And yet I can’t help but try.”

Steeling himself, he looks back at Geralt. Geralt seems… distant. Jaskier sighs, pushing down the disappointment. Gesturing to the goose, he says “I should probably—”

Simultaneously, Geralt steps closer and says, “Do you need help with—”

They both stop, awkwardly close to the goose and to each other. Jaskier knows he should step back, give Geralt some space, but sweet Melitele Geralt’s eyes are somehow even more golden up close. 

Jaskier unconsciously licks his lips, and his breath catches when Geralt’s eyes dart down to look. Gods, is this really happening? 

Their eyes lock again, Geralt’s gaze sharp and intense, and it sends a jolt straight through him. Jaskier finds himself worrying his lip again, and ever so slowly, like he’s worried Jaskier will spook, Geralt’s hand gently cups Jaskier’s face, thumb brushing against his lower lip, coaxing it out from between his teeth.

Jaskier makes a soft sound, almost a whine. Geralt’s lips are pink and look so _soft_. Jaskier sways closer, but Geralt gently holds him in place. He looks regretful, and Jaskier is momentarily gutted before Geralt assures, “I need to check the exterior of the house, see if there’s a bear den nearby and set up deterrents to make sure she doesn’t come back.” His thumb strokes along Jaskier’s cheekbone while his eyes explore Jaskier’s face, earnest. “I won’t be long.”

Jaskier nods. He feels weightless. “Where will she go?”

Geralt’s face softens even further and he smiles, a gentle little thing. “She’ll find or make a new den. Bears move dens in the winter if they need to. She’ll be alright.”

Jaskier nods as Geralt steps back. He tries to hide his disappointment, but there’s a promise in Geralt’s eyes and Jaskier holds on to that. 

Geralt’s expression turns wry. “Try not to set anything on fire or summon any more bears ’til I get back.” 

Spell broken, Jaskier laughs. “I dunno,” he shrugs, “The last bear I summoned was _you_ , so I’d say that worked out pretty well.”

Geralt rolls his eyes as he turns and walks away. 

Cheeks tingling with warmth, Jaskier hums a Yuletide carol as he brings the bird back inside and prepares to deal with the rest of the meal.

***

Approximately seven small kitchen crises later, Geralt knocks on the French doors and joins Jaskier in the kitchen. For a moment, Jaskier thinks to contain how much he lights up when Geralt enters the room, but at the soft smile Geralt gives him in return, Jaskier’s glad he didn’t.

Expression returning to what Jaskier has privately come to think of as his ‘grumpy boy business face,’ Geralt holds up a bit of fur, focus returning to his work. “I found the den by the gardening shed at the back of the property.” He shakes his head, and his voice gains a bitter edge, “Missed it earlier. I shouldn’t have.” Before Jaskier can comment, Geralt continues, “I took care of it. Set up some repellants around the property. She shouldn’t come back.”

That’s… more relieving than he expected it to be, to be honest. Heartfelt, he says, “Thank you.”

For some reason, the show of gratitude towards Geralt’s work seems to fluster him more than anything thus far. Rather than look at Jaskier, his gaze darts around the kitchen instead. His eyebrows go up. “How did things go in here?”

“Oh, you know,” Jaskier says, fake casual, “As you can see, things are perfectly under control!” He gestures grandly at the mess in the kitchen, which has somehow doubled in the time Geralt’s been gone. “I made _several_ side dishes and I think one or two of them might even be salvageable. I also fear I may have mortally wounded my mother’s colander. However! The Yule goose is finally done, and I haven’t even burnt the house down!” He grins, launching into the story of how he valiantly _finished_ cooking the goose—after carefully inspecting it for bear fur of course—but Geralt’s watch beeps and interrupts him.

Looking down at his wrist, Geralt curses. 

“Oh shit,” Jaskier realizes, “Your Yule dinner. Are you gonna be late?”

Geralt shakes his head. “Should make it, just barely.”

They both freeze when they hear the front door open, and the sudden bustle of bags and voices. Jaskier groans, looking around the kitchen. Oh Melitele he is _not_ ready for his family to be home. 

But before he can so much as move, his mother sweeps into the room followed by a few of his cousins—including Valdo, unfortunately—all carrying bags. Out of the corner of his eye Jaskier sees Geralt stiffen, posture returning to the straight-backed expressionless look Geralt wore when he arrived.

“Oh _Julian_ ,” his mother says, “You really _have_ done a number on the kitchen, haven’t you?” 

Jaskier winces, but as he opens his mouth to speak she continues, “Seriously, I can’t believe you actually went through with all this,” she says, glancing at the roasted goose sitting proudly on the kitchen island. Shaking her head, her gaze sweeps around the rest of the kitchen before turning back to him, patting his cheek and smiling warmly. “Don’t worry dear, we had the meal catered.” 

Jaskier’s heart sinks, but he carefully doesn’t let it show on his face. So, they never canceled the original meal plans. Even after all of this. He should’ve known, really. Valdo snickers behind him, and Jaskier pointedly does _not_ turn around.

“Oh!” Jaskier’s mother seems to suddenly notice Geralt’s presence. She turns to Jaskier’s cousins, who he now realizes are carrying bags from his mother’s favorite restaurant. “Take the food into the main dining hall, we’ll sort it out there.” She passes her own bag along as the others file out and then she turns to look Geralt over. “Pest control? On a holiday? _Bless_ you for coming out here today.” She hands Geralt her credit card, smiling pleasantly. Jaskier quietly prays for the floor to swallow him whole.

Geralt’s jaw tightens, but he takes the card and runs it while she chatters to Jaskier about the family shopping trip. Half-listening, he watches Geralt out of the corner of his eye. 

Geralt finishes with her card and clears his throat softly. She turns to him and thanks him, wishing a happy Yule. Turning to Jaskier she says, “Thank you for dealing with this, Julian. Now be a dear and show him out, then you can join us in the dining room for dinner.” Taking one last glance around, she adds, “And don’t worry about the mess either, we’ll have it taken care of in the morning.”

Jaskier nods after her as she sweeps out of the kitchen. As soon as she’s out of earshot, he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. Even without looking at him, he can sense Geralt’s concern. 

Forcing cheer into his voice, Jaskier looks up, though his eyes don’t make it any higher than the wolf logo stitched onto Geralt’s chest, “Family, right?” He laughs, but he doesn’t think it’s very convincing. “I guess… I guess I’ll see you around then, yeah?”

Jaskier doesn’t realize he closed his eyes again until he feels the gentle touch of Geralt’s hand to his chin. How is he meant to keep it together when Geralt has to be so gods-damned _sweet_? Biting his lip, he looks up and meets Geralt’s eyes.

“Your family is shit,” he says, matter-of-fact enough to make Jaskier laugh and press his face into Geralt’s hand. 

“They’re not shit, they just ignore me.” Jaskier pauses. “I don’t know if that’s better or worse, really.”

“Still shit, either way.” Geralt says.

Jaskier smiles. “Yeah, I suppose you’re right.”

Geralt looks pained, but before Jaskier can ask what’s going on he spits out “Do you—” He sighs, exasperated, and glances around the kitchen before his eyes fall back on Jaskier. “Do you want to come to mine? Instead of… instead of spending Yule here?”

What. _What?!_

“What, like, right now? You want me to leave with you right now?” Jaskier asks, breathless. This has to be some sort of hallucination.

The lines around Geralt’s eyes are worried, but some of the joy bursting out of Jaskier must show, because Geralt’s confident smile returns. “You promised me a song,” he rumbles.

Somewhat frantically, Jaskier thinks, _I am going to marry this man_. 

“Fuck.” Jaskier says, eloquently. “Fuck, Geralt, _yes_.” 

There’s a small burst of pure happiness and, of all things, _wonder_ in Geralt’s expression, and Jaskier is helpless but to lean in and press a kiss to Geralt’s cheek. 

“I need to get my things,” Jaskier breathes. “Be right back.” Taking one last look at Geralt, he turns to head to his room. But before he makes it more than two steps, he stops. No, he is not done here. Turning back around, he pulls Geralt in by the collar. 

Their lips crash together, and within moments Jaskier is being kissed to within an inch of his _life_. Geralt’s arms are everywhere, clutching at his hair and the small of his back. Clinging to Geralt’s uniform, Jaskier sweeps his tongue into Geralt’s mouth and he can’t help but moan as Geralt does the same. After a few long breathless moments, they both pull away. The pupils of Geralt’s eyes have blown wide, and he still looks a bit stunned. 

“Meet you at the van?” Jaskier gasps. Geralt nods, and without waiting _any_ longer Jaskier rushes the stairs, taking them two at a time. Once in his room, he throws his scattered clothes and toiletries into his bag, zipping it shut. With one last look around, he grabs his guitar case and his jacket and heads back to the kitchen.

It’s empty now, and Jaskier briefly considers going to the dining room to tell everyone he’s leaving. But honestly? Fuck that. He doesn’t owe them anything, and he doubts they’ll miss him very much. Instead, he pulls out his songbook and rips out a blank sheet, writing a cursory note that he’s having Yule dinner somewhere else, and may they all have a very happy holiday.

Before he realizes it, he’s catching his breath outside the passenger door of Geralt’s van, which is already up and running. Abruptly, he realizes Geralt might not have meant for him to bring _all_ of his things. What if he just meant dinner? Was Jaskier just being _incredibly_ presumptuous, inviting himself to stay at this man’s house on a _holiday_? 

Before he can descend much further into that line of thought, the passenger window rolls down and Geralt is staring at him like he’s lost his mind. 

“Uh…” Jaskier says.

Geralt rolls his eyes and leans over, pushing open the door. “Just get in. Put your stuff in the back.”

“Right,” Jaskier breathes, panic fading into the background. Wordlessly, he throws his suitcase and guitar in the back and climbs into the passenger seat. 

Once his seat belt is clicked and everything is ready to go, Geralt goes to put the car in drive, but stops, hand hovering over the gear shift.

Confused, Jaskier looks over, but Geralt is just staring at the house. Jaskier’s heart seizes, but when he turns around, there’s no one there. There’s nothing but his family’s manor, elegantly decorated, Yule lights twinkling in the gathering dusk. “…Geralt?” he asks, uncertain.

Geralt shifts in his seat, eyes caught on the house. “Are you sure you want to…?”

 _Oh_. Understanding sweeps through Jaskier. This isn’t about him, not really. “Am I sure I want to abandon my entire family without telling them, instead leaving with a wildlife removal hottie to meet his family on a major holiday barely hours after we’ve met?” Jaskier asks. He shrugs, and then smiles. “Sounds like the perfect first date to me.”

Geralt barks out a laugh, and soon he’s really and truly _laughing_. It transforms his face in a way Jaskier could never have predicted, and it’s the most beautiful thing Jaskier’s ever seen. He knows now that he’s been chasing this laugh all day, and he will continue to chase it for as long as he knows this remarkable man.

As they both quiet down, Geralt puts the car into gear. He turns to look at Jaskier, eyes twinkling and playful. “We’ll see.”


End file.
